


take my heart and we can hold it together

by smc_27



Category: The Society (TV 2019)
Genre: AU, F/M, Mostly Fluff, Oh my god they were neighbours, prompted from a line from one tree hill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:20:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24440461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smc_27/pseuds/smc_27
Summary: When the elevator door opens and she walks out, using all her strength to pull the cart into the hallway, she turns and sees someone exiting the apartment one over and across from her new one. He’s locking his door behind him, wearing shorts and boat shoes and a white tee shirt. When he turns to walk towards the elevator, she notices first that he’s pretty handsome, and then second that she’s sort of taking up the entire hallway.Third, she notices the way he looks her up and down. She knows she looks like shit. She’s sweating, hair pulled up onto her head, hands dry from lugging cardboard, and not wearing any makeup. She doesn’t care, necessarily, about any of that, but if someone’s going to check her out, she usually wants to feel like she at least looks good.
Relationships: Harry Bingham/Allie Pressman
Comments: 20
Kudos: 125





	take my heart and we can hold it together

**Author's Note:**

> What prompted this is a line from One Tree Hill. lmk in the comments if you know it!

Remind her never to move in the summer again.

And remind her that wearing denim on the hottest day of the year is a freaking awful idea and should be avoided, even if overalls are cute on her and her cropped white tee shirt seemed like a good idea this morning.

She’s been in Boston exactly 1 year. She knows, obviously, because it’s the kind of thing you remember, but also because today is the last day of her lease and the first day of her new one. Hence the move. She honestly never thought of Boston as a place to live - maybe because it’s where her dad’s from and she associated it with twice-yearly family visits, or something. But she applied to a job completely on a whim - the only one she applied to outside of the Tri-State area - and was shocked as hell to get even an interview. When they made her the offer, she didn’t hesitate a single second and accepted on the spot during that call. She’d travelled in for the interview and tried to picture herself living in this city. She couldn’t, at the time. Now, a year later, moving into a nicer apartment in a better building in a better part of town, she thinks she might be here for the long term.

She’s thankful for her dad driving in to help her move her things. She had friends who offered, and she was more inclined to accept their help than his, but she thinks, too, that he wanted to hang out with her uncle. He got in yesterday and stayed with Steven last night, then came over this morning to help her pack the U-Haul, then unload it at the new place.

She just said goodbye to him at the curb as they unloaded the last of her things from the truck, and she’s got the hand cart they borrowed from the building for moving in next to her in the elevator. The rest will be up to her. The unpacking. “The bullshit,” her dad had said. She wants to agree. She knows nothing but essentials will be done today. At least not right now. She’s overheating and hungry, and her first priority is water, changing her clothes, and maybe ordering a pizza.

When the elevator door opens and she walks out, using all her strength to pull the cart into the hallway, she turns and sees someone exiting the apartment one over and across from hers. He’s locking his door behind him, wearing shorts and boat shoes and a white tee shirt. When he turns to walk towards the elevator, she notices first that he’s pretty handsome, and then second that she’s sort of taking up the entire hallway.

Third, she notices the way he looks her up and down. She knows she looks like shit. She’s sweating, hair pulled up onto her head, hands dry from lugging cardboard, and not wearing any makeup. She doesn’t care, necessarily, about any of that, but if someone’s going to check her out, she usually wants to feel like she at least looks good.

“Sorry,” she mutters as he comes closer.

He presses his back to the wall and shimmies past her, gives her a nice smile and says, “No worries.”

As she’s approaching her door, she wishes she’d introduced herself, or said something else, or…

God, who cares? She closes the door behind her, unloads the hand cart and leans her hands on the kitchen island, looking straight ahead and out her living room windows at the city. She has absolutely no reason to care about some random guy.

… … …

She treated herself to a set of ridiculously expensive wine glasses. And new dishes. And a bottle of wine more expensive than she’d normally buy. She made herself one of her favourite meals to celebrate finally being fully unpacked, and getting rid of the last of the boxes that had been cluttering the floor of her hall closet. Three weeks after her move in date, she feels pretty good about how things are coming along. There are still things she wants to buy, but it’s nothing urgent or pressing, and all things she can piece away at when she spots what she wants on Etsy or whatever.

She’s settling in on the sofa with her wine and her remote in her hand so she can continue making her way through Friday Night Lights for the second time. About 10 minutes later, she hears music begin to pound from down the hall, rolls her eyes (this isn’t her first time living in an apartment building, so she knows it’s to be expected), and turns up the volume on her television. It’s not a big deal and she’s not the fun police. She doesn’t know whose party it is and it’s not as though she’s trying to meditate or something. Whatever. It’s Saturday.

In the morning, when she’s leaving to go to brunch with her cousin, she steps into the hall in her sundress and sandals, hair still drying and left down her back. As she’s fitting her key into the lock she hears something down the hall and looks over just in time to see her neighbour letting some attractive brunette into the hallway. He kisses her forehead the way guys do when they think they’re being sweet but are actually just being players, or whatever. The woman turns towards Allie (towards the elevator, more accurately) and the guy catches Allie’s eye. He juts his chin towards her and she doesn’t know how to respond to that, so she does nothing and watches him step back into his place and shut the door.

Allie tries not to feel awkward riding the elevator with this woman she knows is trying really hard to not feel shameful leaving.

(She’s been there before. It doesn’t feel great, even if you feel fine about the encounter. Hell, even when you’re dating someone, leaving in the morning always makes you feel like people assume it was a one night stand. God, that’s what Allie’s assumed, here.)

“Have a nice day,” the woman says as they step out of the elevator, and Allie smiles and says, “You, too.”

The woman goes in the direction Allie also needs to go, but she pretends to look up something on her phone to give herself a reason to hang back and put distance between them. She doesn’t know why she feels the need to do it. Whatever.

… … …

She’s had a truly shitty day at work. One of her patients suffered a major setback in progress and as such is completely unmotivated to do anything that might help him. It’s not something she’s unfamiliar with; it happens pretty regularly. Like, she’s a therapist. She’s used to helping people get through hard shit. It’s just more difficult with some patients than it is with others.

And it’s still hot as fuck out, and while she likes that she’s way closer to her office than she was at her last place, the 10 minute walk from the metro station to her apartment building has sweat running between her boobs and collecting on her upper lip. She wipes it off before she fobs into the building.

She only checks her mail about once a week unless she’s expecting a package, but it’s been a while and she wanders through the lobby to the mailroom, loving the way the air conditioning is already making her feel better.

Hot guy from down the hall - which is how she’s started thinking about him - is there, dumping junk mail into the recycling bin he’s kicked over to right beneath his mailbox. By the looks of it, he _never_ checks his mail. He’s got a stack of it in his hand and he glances up when he hears her keys jingle.

“Hey,” he says, and she smiles as she opens her mailbox. “I’m Harry.”

He’s holding out his hand and Allie looks at it for a second before reaching across her body with her right hand - she’s taking her mail out with her left - and shakes his.

“Allie.” He nods. She finds much of the same junk he’s already ditched, reaches over and drops it in the bin. Then there’s a postcard from her sister in the small stack of actual mail. When she glances over, he’s looking at what’s in her hands. It almost bothers her, but Cassandra sending her some stupid inside joke on the back of a postcard that has the Tower of London on it is really not anything she needs to hide.

“What do you do?” he asks, and Allie raises her brow.

“What do _you_ do?” She’s smiling, and is annoyed by how much she likes the look on his face. It’s like he likes being challenged like this.

But seriously. He’s wearing a suit (in August - no thank you) and while he’s unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and loosened his tie, he still looks like he does something stuffy.

“I’m in finance.”

Allie chuckles softly. He’s being vague, likely deliberately. Which is his prerogative, and she doesn’t really mind.

And maybe he says it that way to make it sound more impressive than it is, or something.

Maybe for that same reason, she says, “I’m a doctor.”

(Not that she has any reason to feel like that’s more impressive than saying she’s a behavioural psychotherapist.)

He looks her up and down again. What’s _with_ that?

He pushes the recycling bin back over to its original spot as she closes her mailbox.

Fuck. Now they’re gonna have to ride the elevator together.

“My dad was a doctor,” he says, and she has no idea what to say to that. Never does. It’s this weird thing that happens when people hear you’re a doctor; they share that they know other people in the same profession. She can speculate on why people do that, but it’s still weird.

And she knows all about the ways people talk about family members. His use of past tense means, likely, that his dad’s passed on. Most people don’t talk about retired people this way.

“Why finance?” she asks, and reaches out to push the elevator button, sees that one is on the 15th floor and another is on the 9th, going up.

“I’m better with numbers than I am with people,” he says, laughing, and Allie smiles. She thinks that’s a cute thing to say, and suspects he’s said it before.

She sort of wants to be a brat and say that the number of people she’s seen coming and going from his place, the fact that he’s had two parties in the short time she’s lived here, mean he’s got to be pretty good with people. But in the spirit of not wanting to be a jerk during their first proper interaction, she holds back.

“Why medicine?” he asks, and then gestures for her to get on the elevator before him when the doors open.

She presses the button for their floor, and thinks about her answer. She shrugs. “Therapy saves lives.”

He doesn’t say anything or indicate at all that he thinks she was misleading. Instead, he smiles, nods, and says, “I hear that.” When they get to their floor and walk towards their apartments, she has her keys in her hands and he stops with her at her door. “I’m having people in this Saturday. You should come.”

“Oh yeah?” she asks, brow raised. “Why’s that?”

Oh fuck. Is she flirting? She’s not sure she means to.

Harry takes a couple steps backwards, grins, and asks, “Why not?”

She closes her door behind her before saying anything else, and decides she’s probably not going to go.

Probably.

… … …

She makes plans with Helena for Saturday. It’s last minute, and they just go to a movie and then a drink after at this wine bar Helena likes.

She can hear music and people, muffled voices and bass, mostly, when she gets home. She considers going over to his door and walking in. But maybe he was just asking to be polite. She’s not sure and she’s definitely not going to risk it.

… … …

“Missed you on the weekend,” he tells her Tuesday morning when she bumps into him at the coffee shop on the corner on her way to work.

“I’m sure,” she laughs.

“I told people you’d be there.”

Allie gives him a look and wonders how he sips his cappuccino without it burning his mouth. “I’m sure all these perfect strangers who have no idea who I am were truly disappointed.”

He leans his elbow on the counter while she stirs oat milk into her coffee. “Maybe just me,” he admits, and this is so stupid.

Like, this really attractive guy is totally flirting with her while fucking Ed Sheeran is playing in the background and she hates how much she loves it.

She has to get to work. She doubts he takes the train.

“You’re gonna make me late,” she says, pressing the lid onto her reusable mug and tapping his arm with the back of her hand.

He laughs, pulls a set of keys from his pocket. She notices the car key with the fancy logo on it. He stands upright and says, “See ya, Allie.”

“Bye, Harry.”

She watches him walk away. He holds the door open for an older man before he walks out. She doesn’t know what to make of him.

… … …

She really, really doesn’t want to have to do this. Fuck.

She’s making Sam a birthday cake, and she had exactly the right number of eggs, and she’s smart enough to not crack them all into the same dish, but she gets to the second last one and when she cracks it, there’s some blood inside. This has literally never happened to her, and of course it would happen now, when Sam’s going to be here in an hour, because part of the plan was that he could decorate the cake with her. He hates baking, but loves icing and sprinkles and eating. She needs to get these cakes in the oven so they can be ready to decorate after they watch the movie he’s selected. She doesn’t have time to run out and get more. Or rather, she really doesn’t want to have to stuff all this back into the fridge and leave the building, hope the inconsistent convenience store two blocks away has eggs worth purchasing, and come all the way back. That feels like a last resort.

She chews her lip when she’s standing in the hallway outside his door. Sure, she could literally knock on any door in this hallway and hope to get a positive response, but she’s at least had conversations with him. Everyone else she’s just smiled at in passing.

When he opens the door after she’s knocked, he looks surprised, then smiles, holds the door open and sort of leans against it.

“Hey,” he says, as if…

No, fuck. She doesn’t know. He can probably read the panic on her face or something. She needs to chill.

“Can I borrow an egg?” she asks, and his brows come together like he’s confused. “I need to borrow an egg.”

“Borrow…” He lets out a little laugh. “Are you sure I’m gonna want it back when you’re done?”

And she thinks he’s joking, but he’s also turning and walking into his place, which feels like an invitation (because he hasn’t asked her to leave) and so she lets the door close behind her and then he’s opening the fridge and pulling a carton of eggs out and…

She panics.

“I’m baking a cake. I’ll save you a piece. As a thank you.”

He grins, presses a cold egg into her hand. How he manages to give bedroom eyes in absolutely any and every situation is either ridiculous, or a skill she finds impressive. She’s not sure yet.

“Totally not necessary, but I’ll take it.” Now that she has what she needs right here in her hand, she feels a little less on edge. Then his brows come together. “What kind of cake?”

Feeling bold, she locks eyes with him and says, “I’ll surprise you,” and then her hand is on the doorknob as he watches her like he’s impressed, or intrigued, or some other thing she likes.

Her cheeks don’t heat up until she’s in the hallway and wondering why the fuck she just did that, said that instead of thank you, like a normal person.

She gets the cake in the oven, and then has a shower and does the dishes, gets dressed in nice enough clothes to have people in, and tidies up the main area of the apartment. She refolds the blanket she keeps on the sofa, and makes sure the champagne is in the fridge. She sets decorations out - the exact colour palette Sam had (jokingly, she knows) told her to - and is finishing crushing Oreos just as he and Grizz buzz up to her place. They’ve been here before, so she doesn’t feel pressure to show them around or anything, but for some reason, she still feels a little nervous having people in. Maybe she just doesn’t quite feel at home yet, or something.

And okay, so maybe there were two bottles of champagne, and maybe Grizz drinks beer instead, and maybe by the time the cake is decorated and they’ve eaten it (and burgers and fries they ordered in) and watched the movie, the champagne is gone as is most of a six pack. It’s dark out and she’s insisting that Sam take the cake with him, otherwise she’ll just eat it all. But then she cuts off one slice and says she might want it for breakfast, which is an absolute lie, but sue her, okay?

It’s way too late but she’s drunk and foolish, and when she knocks on Harry’s door, she honestly doesn’t know what she’s going to say.

“Here,” is what comes out, and she holds the plate out for him. He smiles, appraises her as if he’s assessing how drunk she is.

“Well, damn.” He holds the plate up so he can look at the cake. “Chocolate with sprinkles and Oreos?”

“Caramel, too.” His brow ticks up. Okay, _now_ he knows she’s drunk.

“Come inside.” It’s a command, and she doesn’t want to do it, but then, “I’ll share,” sounds like enough of an invitation that it feels dangerous and enticing, and she’s crossing the threshold.

The silverware clangs around in the drawer as he grabs two forks and then leans his elbows on the counter and cuts off a bite for himself. She’s just waiting. She wants to see his reaction.

He lets out a deep moan and gives her a look, and she smiles proudly and takes a tiny bite - she’s had two pieces already and doesn’t need more, but it _is_ good and she won’t deny it.

“You made this?” he asks as she licks the icing from her fork, shrugs one shoulder. “You’re a little drunk, huh?”

She wonders what gave it away. “It’s my cousin’s birthday. It’s tradition.”

“To get shitfaced?” He’s laughing, so she figures he’s teasing, too.

“To bake. When we were nine I thought I’d make up a cookie recipe. It was disgusting. I’ve gotten significantly more fancy since then.”

“Yeah,” he breathes around another mouthful of cake. “This is so fucking good.”

“Thanks,” she says with a smile. “Last year I did peach cobbler.” He hums, has another bite. “What’s your favourite dessert?”

“Mm. Chocolate brownie ice cream. Elite food.”

The way he says it so definitively makes her feel a strange rush of affection for him. There’s just something so genuine about it. Most of their other interactions, she hasn’t been able to really tell if he’s being honest or putting on a show. This feels different.

“Noted.”

He grins. “My birthday’s coming up. Can I get in on this, or…”

Allie shakes her head, sets down her fork and leans her elbows on the counter. They’re across from one another, but now their hands are almost touching.

“Reserved for only the most special.”

“Ouch,” he mutters, then takes the last bite of cake and scrapes his fork along the plate to gather up the last of the icing, licks it off the fork. “I’m special”

Allie rolls her eyes, reaches for her plate. “I’m sure you are.” Harry reaches for her wrist, strokes his thumb against her skin. Fuck, that feels good. “You think I bake for just anyone?”

His brow ticks up. “You think I share cake with just any girl?”

She scoffs without intending to, tugs her hand away gently. “You’ve got all the lines, huh?”

“Not all,” he mumbles, and then follows her to the door. She puts her hand on the doorknob and turns to him. It feels like earlier today all over again. “Thanks for the cake.”

“Thanks for the egg.”

The look he gives her as she’s leaving has her wanting to stay.

… … …

“In theory,” he says, sticking his arm in the elevator door to stop it closing, and flashing her a smile. She didn’t see him, or she would’ve held it. She thinks he’s talking to her, but then sees he’s got his phone in his hand and he’s on a call.

Jesus. She’s glad she saved herself the embarrassment of talking to him, or trying. Awkward as hell. He rolls his eyes at her like he’s annoyed with the call, even as he says something about a merger not making sense based on last year’s P&L. She thinks this sounds really stupid and totally fake. Then again, almost every patient she’s ever had has laughed out loud the first time she’s asked how something makes them feel.

He’s still on the phone when they get to the ground floor, and she gives him a little wave after he holds the door open so she can walk outside.

He winks at her and she loathes herself for the way it makes her feel.

(Really, really good. Desired. Or maybe just desire for him. Fuck.)

… … …

She really has a reality check when she’s leaving to go on a walk two Sundays later and sees a woman leaving. Again. Allie laughs to herself, locks her door, and writes off her silly little crush as just her brain enjoying the attention.

… … …

She’s scrolling Instagram and has The Voice on in the background, because it’s something she doesn’t really have to pay super close attention to but keeps the place from being totally quiet. She has on a pair of joggers that are basically pajamas, and a Red Sox tee shirt her uncle got her because he said she needed one. The last time she went over to their house for dinner, he had it sitting there by the door in a little gift bag. She likes that she’s getting closer to this part of her family now than she ever felt when she was younger. And the shirt is comfortable even if it makes it look like she cares about baseball, which she doesn’t.

Someone knocks on the door, but no one buzzed her first, which means that whoever it is is from inside the building, and considering she’s really only spoken to one person in all the months she’s lived here…

“Hey,” Harry says when she opens the door. “Ordered Thai and they doubled my order, for some reason.” He holds up a paper takeout bag and flashes a grin. “You hungry?”

Dammit. She _is_. She only had a small amount of pasta leftover from what she cooked last night, and she had that for lunch today. She debated picking something up on the way home from work, but didn’t want to spend the money. Then, by the time she got home, she was sort of too tired and just ended up changing, pouring a glass of water, and sitting on the sofa. Her stomach is practically growling at the thought of food, regardless of whatever it is that’s in that bag.

Instead of saying anything, she pulls the door open wider and gestures for him to come in.

“I think I have beer. Maybe white wine?”

Harry’s avoiding her eyes and opening the bag. She can tell from his body language it’s intentional that he’s not looking at her when he says, “I don’t drink.” He’s not a fucking client, so she’s not going to press that button any harder. “Go ahead, though.”

Allie smiles, not wanting him to feel awkward. “I’m good.” She grabs a water glass for him. “Sparkling? Still?”

Harry looks relieved, pulls containers out and sets them on her counter. “Still.”

She realizes that while she’s been inside his place a couple times, this is really his first time in hers. Their layouts are the same - because condos are boring, and she can admit that even though she loves her place - but his feels weirdly industrial and almost dark. Hers is decorated in light greys, whites and pinks. Her accent colour is black, and is demonstrated really just in some of her photo frames, and little decor pieces here and there.

Allie sets plates down and sits a glass of water in front of him as she sits next to him at the kitchen island.

“What’ve we got?” she asks, hating how lame it sounds, but wanting to know anyway.

“Pad thai and moo ping.” Her mouth waters. Instead of using a plate, Harry pops the top off one of the containers of pad thai and starts eating straight from it. She doesn’t hate it. Fewer dishes for her. “I like your place.”

He’s talking with his mouth full but somehow doesn’t seem gross doing it. An accomplishment.

She also can’t tell if he’s being serious or making note of the fact that it’s the same as his own. She looks around and decides not to say anything about it, really.

“This thing where we feed each other,” she starts, and Harry laughs around a bite of food. “It’s not the worst.” She wonders where this is from; it’s better than any Thai she’s had since she moved in. “Thank you, by the way.” He sort of waves her off. She wonders why this feels weird. Maybe because they haven’t really spoken in weeks. “Tell me more about your work.”

He laughs again. “Basically I try to help people who have a lot of money make more money.”

Allie, as a joke, says, “How do you feel about that?”

He smiles at her, which she sort of loves. She wonders if he knows how attractive he is. He must, right? She doesn’t think guys like this go around questioning it.

“Some days I feel great about it. Some days I feel like I’ve sold my soul.”

“Any days where it feels somewhere in the middle?”

He shrugs his shoulder. “Sure.” He shakes his head, then. “Shit, this makes it seem like I hate what I do. I don’t. It’s great and I’m great at it.” Allie nods. It’s natural for people to feel positive about things they know they excel at. “Also, I feel like I’m overcompensating here because I know you’re a therapist.”

She laughs out loud, covers her mouth and reaches for a napkin and a sip of water. “I’m not psychoanalyzing you.”

“Good to know.” There’s a beat of silence, then, “What about you?”

“I applied to this clinic thinking there was no way I’d get the job. Here we are.”

“No, like…” He pauses, thinks about it. Maybe he’s going to ask something weird or inappropriate and he’s trying to decide if he should. “Why’d you wanna be a therapist?”

She waffles on how much she wants to share. She could be vague, or she could go hyper detailed. She’ll probably do something in the middle. He obviously did the same; he didn’t even tell her the name of his company.

“I had a really intense childhood,” she shares, and he’s just watching her. He looks worried, or sympathetic, or… “Nothing really traumatic, or... “ She shakes her head. “That’s a lie.” He laughs humourlessly, and she knows she’s got to be a little more specific. “My older sister was really sick when we were little. Like, really sick and almost died. I spent a lot of time worrying about her, and also taking a back seat to everything she needed and did.”

“Shit.”

Allie smiles sadly. “Yeah. I wanted to know how that all ended up shaping my life, and then kind of fell in love with helping other people sort out their own stuff.” She looks at him, tilts her head. “Are you really just good with numbers?”

Harry grins. “Kinda.”

“Man of few words. That’s fine.” She gets up, picks up her dish and heads for the sofa. She likes that he follows immediately. She nudges the remote towards him with her foot. “Pick a movie.”

He puts on Moneyball and wonders if that’s informed by the numbers thing or the fact that she’s wearing this baseball shirt, or something else entirely. She doesn’t mind. She’s never seen this but she’s heard it’s good. They sort of chat throughout, too, where they can without feeling like they’re missing any dialogue. She pulls the blanket off the back of the sofa, and he reaches over to make sure her feet are covered. She thinks there’s something seriously adorable about that, but doesn’t say anything, just smiles at him. She gets a little distracted thinking about how her evening went from absolutely nothing special whatsoever, to a free meal and watching a movie with her hot neighbour.

God, she’s gotta stop thinking about him that way.

She likes the idea of having more friends. She likes that they’re maybe doing something about that. She likes that he gets up and stretches after the movie’s done, helps her tidy up and tells her he’ll see her soon before he leaves. Nothing more than that. She appreciates it.

… … …

She goes home for a long weekend because, frankly, she needed a day off and she was able to rearrange some appointments. It means she spends way more time at the office on Wednesday and Thursday, but frees up her Friday so she can drive to Connecticut. She considered asking her uncle to borrow a car - he would’ve said yes - but she’s an adult and renting is absolutely something she is responsible enough to do. So she’s in this tiny little economy thing smaller than anything else she’s ever driven, and her dad doubles over laughing when he comes out onto the porch after she pulls into the driveway.

Her mom makes lasagna and they drink red wine and stay up too late talking while the television is on in the background. They FaceTimed with Cassandra earlier, and as Allie falls asleep in her childhood bedroom, which is, for the most part, the same as it’s been since she was in high school, she’s thinking about how weird it is to be here as an adult. It always feels weird. And maybe part of this was brought on by a conversation she recently had with Helena in which she was talking about her super conservative parents make her and Luke sleep in separate rooms even though they _can’t_ be that naive. She’d asked Allie if her parents do the same, and Allie realized she’s never, like, brought a guy home. She’s introduced people to her parents, but never for an overnight thing or a holiday or anything.

It’s not often she feels lonely. It’s crazy that she’s feeling lonely the one time she falls asleep in a home that has other people in it as well.

… … …

She doesn’t often think she _needs_ a drink. She knows enough about the reasons and risks that it really doesn’t make sense to her to use alcohol as a crutch. And this isn’t that. This is - she can feel the days getting shorter, the weather getting cooler, and she has this thing she does every year where she wants to stretch out the season as long as possible. So she’s out with Helena at this bar a few blocks from home, in a summer dress with a denim jacket just in case she gets cold walking home. They’re sharing a pitcher of sangria and eating nachos and Helena has said she really loves this tradition, even if it’s only year two.

It’s getting busy - there’s a baseball game on and this place has a big screen - and their server hasn’t come by in a while. Allie’s not bothered by this, but she does want more drinks. When she gets to the bar and leans her elbows on it, looks to her right for the bartender, what she sees instead is Harry at a booth right by the front window, with a bunch of guys all dressed in suits. He hasn’t noticed her, and then the bartender calls her sweetie and asks what he can get her. She walks away with her pitcher in her hand and is remembering when Harry said he didn’t drink, and then… Well, no. She’s not going to judge and she doesn’t think he was lying.

She’s a little tipsy and she’s now thinking maybe a second pitcher was overkill, but whatever. Actually, she could use more food, too. Dammit.

He spots her when he’s on his way to the washroom, smiles and comes over, slides into the chair next to hers and introduces himself to Helena, who’s just looking at him. It’s like she’s annoyed or at least intrigued and wants to know from Allie who the guy is and why he’s so comfortable around her.

“Happy hour,” he tells her.

“It’s 9pm,” she shoots back. Harry laughs and shrugs. She sips her drink. She’s too drunk for it to be this early, and hopes he does not call her on it. Helena’s just watching the exchange like it’s a tennis match. “My neighbour.” Helena’s brow goes up. “Down the hall.”

Harry’s grinning. She can sense it. He sets his hand on the back of her chair and fiddles with a coaster with his other hand.

“She’s underselling it. We hang out.”

“ _Have_ ,” Allie corrects, because it feels important. She cuts him a look, then turns her attention back to Helena. “We have. We’re not close.”

“Yet,” Harry says, and laughs when Allie glares. He stands, then, and smiles down at her, then looks at Helena. “Nice to meet you. See you around, Allie.”

He puts his hand in his pocket and she watches him walk away, and then Helena’s grilling her for information on who the hell he is and why he was _flirting with her_ and she doesn’t _know_ , okay?

… … …

And also, in addition to that, she doesn’t know why she was sort of snotty to him when her friend was there, when really, what she’s learned, is that she quite likes his company.

… … …

She thought this shit only happened in movies. Certainly, she wishes that were the case. Because she sleeps naked unless she’s at her parents’ place, and she’s woken up by the fire alarm. She’s scared and her heart’s racing, but she pulls on a pair of shorts and a tank top, and grabs her robe, keys and phone as she heads out the door to her place. She’s never paid attention to where the fire exits are, because who even does that? But she’s not stupid, so she heads for the stairs, hoping that at least this is all for nothing. If the building’s actually on fire…

She’s still freaking herself out with that thought - like fuck, everything she owns is in her apartment, and maybe she should’ve grabbed more, and…

“Hey,” Harry says, and puts his arm casually around her shoulders, squeezes once and lets go. It’s cold out. She almost wishes he hadn’t moved. “You okay?”

Allie nods, then hears sirens and wonders how long they’ll have to be out here. She knows from high school fire drills that first responders have to clear the building. Given that this one is 22 stories, she’s seriously hoping they don’t have to go to every floor.

She turns to him, looks him up and down, and asks, “Take me for a drive?”

The grin he gives her can only be described as devious.

They’re walking away from the crowd of their neighbours and she sort of just assumes his car is parked beneath the building. Maybe they won’t even be able to get to it. But he fobs into the parking garage with no problems, rolls his eyes and mutters something about safety first. He holds the door for her. He holds the car door for her, too, closes it after she tucks her legs inside. She caught him looking, but she’s not surprised by that, either.

He turns the key, and when she crosses her legs, her robe opens a little. She doesn’t adjust it.

Harry puts his window down a little bit, and turns right out the gates of the parking garage and away from their building. She thinks maybe this is foolish, because maybe she’s just going to lose sleep for no reason. Maybe their fucking building is burning down. But if it is, what’s she gonna do? Stand there and watch?

She really wants this distraction, and looks over and sees Harry smiling, one hand on the wheel.

She waits until she can’t see the flashing lights of the sirens in the dark until she turns towards him a little more. She notices that his lips twitch gently into a smile when she does it.

“Where’re you taking me?” she asks, hoping it sounds like she’s up for the adventure, not afraid of it.

He shrugs. “Just driving. Whichever streets look the emptiest.” She likes that. A lot. Being in a fast car with this handsome guy she thinks she knows better than she wants to let on. “That cool with you?”

Okay, she likes that even more. That he wants her to be comfortable. Allie lays her head back against the leather seat and nods. She’s sort of itching to hold his hand, but that’s stupid. She asks if she can put on some music, and he says his phone is paired. Like, she’s never been in a car that you didn’t need a physical aux cable connected, and for some reason it makes her laugh. He’s _rich_ rich. Not just comfortable. Not just slightly above comfortable like her and her family. She didn’t grow up poor or even anything less than upper middle class, but she’s getting the sense that Harry could be part of the 1%. And she’s sure his current career is helping keep that generational wealth going. It just makes her have so many questions for him, and she’s quietly thinking through how to ask as few as possible to get as much information as she can.

“What do you want out of life, Harry?” she asks, and the way his eyes slide towards her and he smirks in amusement has her thinking maybe her goal of not being too intense was not met.

“Small talk, hm?” She laughs a little and turns down the music. She sees that the lock screen on his phone is just all black. She thinks he doesn’t like to give much away.

He doesn’t say anything for at least a minute. She smiles to herself. “I’m really good with uncomfortable silences, so if you’re waiting for me to forget I asked, think again.”

Harry laughs out loud, nods his head. “And I’ve got a ton of experience with therapy, so this doesn’t surprise me in the least.”

 _Oh_. That does explain a bit about the way he’d reacted when she told him what she does.

“Come on. Middle of the night, fire alarm, car ride cone of silence. I’m an excellent listener.”

“I bet you are,” he says quietly, and it makes her think he’s thought of this before. Of talking with her about something more deep than what they usually do. That thought makes her feel really good, actually. “I dunno. I want the usual stuff, I guess.”

“What’s that?”

He pauses. She likes that he’s careful with his words. “A partner. A kid, maybe. A summer home on Martha’s Vineyard.”

Allie laughs, watches him smile. “Right. Average American stuff.” He glances her way. She likes the way his eyes are shining. “You want kids?”

“One, I think.” Allie nods. He takes a breath. “My dad died when I was in high school and he was the best.” Her heart hurts a little, the way it does for anyone who loses a parent, but especially so young. “I think a lot about the kind of dad he was.”

“What kind of dad was he?”

“Busy,” he replies. She watches the way he handles the wheel as he turns right onto some side street. She finds it quite attractive, and she thinks it’s probably in part the action itself, and in part the vulnerability he’s showing right now. “But present, I guess?” He looks her way, so she nods so he’ll keep talking. “Not just like, teach you how to ride a bike present, but...around. And smart. He was so fucking smart. He worked in a teaching hospital, and I didn’t realize it when he was alive, but the way he talked to us about stuff was really…” He’s trying to find his words. She doesn’t want to rush him. “Gentle?”

Allie nods. He looks glad she gets what he’s saying. “You have siblings?”

“A younger sister.”

“Older sister,” she says, smiling.

“I remember.”

 _Oh_.

“What else?”

Harry shakes his head, looks at her at a red light. “Your turn.” She rolls her eyes. It’s not that she doesn’t like talking about herself, but… “What do you want?”

“Same things, I guess. A partner, a family of some kind.” She sees his brows come together like he wants to know more about that. “I’ve never had aspirations of a summer property, but now that you mention it…” He laughs again. He’s got a great laugh. “I also really want a dog. But I think that fits into the family bucket.”

“Two kids and a dog, kinda person?”

Allie takes a breath and thinks about it. Honestly, she’s never wanted more than one kid, either. “One kid,” she corrects. Harry nods silently. “I love my sister, but growing up with her wasn’t easy. I really love the idea of spoiling the shit out of a child so they never doubt how much I love them.”

He looks like he wants to ask more questions. She gives him space to do it. “You felt that way?”

She shrugs. She’s mostly over it now. Mostly. “It’s complicated. But yeah.”

He’s silent, then smiles sweetly, looking at her, “I really like that,” he says, like a confession, of some kind. Allie can’t stand how much she likes it. It feels really intense. “I mean, I was spoiled, but...Not that I think my parents didn’t love me, but it didn’t feel like that. There’s something sort of...beautiful about the way you said it.” Allie knows her cheeks are flaring. Why does she _like him_ so much? “Curses and all.”

“I have a confession,” she says after a moment. Harry grins, nods for her to continue. “I thought you were just an arrogant jerk at first.”

He chuckles like he’s heard this before. “I’m full of surprises, Allie.”

She bites her lip. He watches her. She likes that he does.

“Why do you project that?”

“Why don’t you tell me, doc?” She rolls her eyes and he accelerates, and she’s thinking that maybe she’s never been so comfortable as a passenger of a car driving just a little too fast. “Pretty classic self-preservation, isn’t it?”

She smiles, then presses her lips together. “Is it?”

“If you don’t let people close, they can’t hurt you, right?”

She notes that he keeps finishing his thoughts with a question, like he needs it validated, or he wants to sound like he hasn’t put as much thought into this as he clearly has. Allie doesn’t want to say any of that, because he’s not a patient and he’s not paying her. Not to make it sound like he should be. She just doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable.

And, importantly… “You’ve opened up to me pretty easily.”

“I know,” he says, and his confidence is back. She finds it really attractive. “You’re easy to talk to.”

Smiling, she answers, “Thanks,” because that means a lot, actually.

“And...Don’t take this the wrong way.” Allie laughs softly, bracing herself. “You’re really hot and I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“ _Harry_ ,” she breathes out, looking downward. For some reason, it makes her want to fix her stupid robe, and god, this is so dumb. They’re driving around in their pajamas and having a better conversation than she’s had on any date she’s been on in years.

Harry reaches for her hand before she can cover her thigh more. She likes that it’s a bold move and he’s made it anyway. She likes the way his fingers fit between hers.

“You wanna know the best kept secret in Boston?” he asks, and it’s sly, and his voice is a little low, and she was thinking maybe they should start heading back, but what she does instead is nod.

He pulls up to this really gross looking diner that has a drive thru window. He orders a large fry with some kind of dipping sauce called ‘bananas garlic’ that makes her look at him like he’s insane. But then he pulls over in the parking lot and tells her to try, and it is legitimately the best garlic aioli she’s ever had, and the fries are like, perfect, and she has so many questions about how he knows this place exists and how he knows they’re open 24 hours.

“I’m a little flattered you’re sharing this secret with me, too.”

He smiles, reaches for a fry. “You should be.”

When they finish - and she knows she’s coming back to this place again - he asks if she thinks they should go home now. She flushes a little at the way he says _home_ , as if they share one, or something. It’s an absolutely absurd thought. And she’s figuring they’d see smoke, or something, if their building actually went up in flames. She’s not too concerned. She is concerned about how she’ll feel in the morning. If she’ll be able to get back to sleep. Her alarm is going to go off in three hours. And yet she doesn’t regret this time with him. Ask her when she’s struggling through the day, but she thinks even then, it might’ve been worth it.

He pulls into the parking garage and into his spot, and she re-ties her robe as he sets his car’s alarm. Harry puts his arm around her as they walk to the elevator. Allie doesn’t mind it at all, but stops herself from looping hers around his waist. She doesn’t know what’s happening here, but she likes it enough to see what happens. She yawns in the elevator, and Harry grins at her, asks if she’s going back to sleep. She shrugs her shoulder, genuinely unsure.

When they get to her door, she slips her key into the lock, then turns around and looks at him. He pushes his right hand through his hair. She thinks they both don’t necessarily want to say goodbye, which is a little ridiculous.

“Thanks for the drive. And the midnight snack.” He laughs a little, nods. “Goodnight, Harry.”

“‘Night, Allie,” he says, and there’s that fucking voice again. She tries not to show that it affects her. The result is a weird, deadly silence that makes her feel awkward, which, considering what she told him earlier, sort of throws her off kilter. She’s usually fine with silence. She wonders if he wanted to kiss her. He starts walking backwards down the hall. “Anyways, call me if you need anything. Someone to talk to. Move carpets. I don't know, a husband?”

Allie laughs, but then her breath catches, and she pushes her door open and leans back against it once it’s closed, shuts her eyes tight.

The mistake she always makes is overthinking what she wants and why she wants it. She doesn’t want to do that right now. She wants Harry, and there’s nothing wrong with it, and she thinks they get along too well to ignore.

She leaves her apartment, and as she’s knocking on his door, she thinks this is _crazy_. This is so unlike her - this is the kind of shit she used to do in high school that left her heartbroken. Just recklessly following her feelings. She doesn’t know why this feels different.

Harry’s smiling softly when he pulls the door open - he knows it’s her - but then his brow furrows and she realizes her face must be unreadable. He says, “Sorry. I was joking. I wasn’t…”

Allie leans up on her toes, grabs his shirt in her hands at his chest, and kisses him. The way he puts his arm around her, pulls her inside and closes the door… _God_ , it’s every bit as hot as she thought it’d be.

She asks if they can go to the bedroom, and enjoys the way he nods too quickly.

… … …

She is dead tired when she slips out of his apartment in the morning. She almost wants to laugh at herself for being just like the other girls she saw leaving. But she doesn’t feel badly about it. Harry was still sleeping when her alarm went off, his hand sliding up her back as he turned towards her. She kissed the apple of his cheek, left her number on a post-it on the pillow, and left as quietly as she could. She still doesn’t know if she should’ve woken him. She doesn’t often hate that she has patients, but today, she’d really love nothing more than to stay in bed with him and see what he looks like when he’s blinking sleep from his eyes.

She makes coffee before she gets into the shower, does her makeup lighter than she usually does because her eyes are tired and she can’t imagine putting on even eyeshadow. She throws on foundation and concealer, a little mascara and some blush. She gulps her coffee more than sips it so she can refill her mug before she leaves.

Harry’s walking towards her when she steps into the hall. She blushes, which is silly. God, the man saw her naked hours ago and she has nothing to be shy about.

“Love ‘em and leave ‘em type, huh?” he teases as he approaches. She wants to tell him to be quiet, but there’s no one else around.

“I have patients. I’m sorry.” He shakes his head like he didn’t need the explanation. “You got my note?”

He smirks. “You haven’t checked your phone,” he says, pressing the elevator button. She’s confused, knowing she’s missed something, and when she opens her phone, the message from an unknown number says _’Already leaving stuff at my place?’_ with a picture of her robe draped over the back of his sofa.

Allie cuts him a look as he gestures for her to enter the elevator before him. “You’re the one who took it off me.”

Harry leans back against the railing as she presses for the ground floor. “I know,” he tells her lowly.

He chuckles when she takes a deep, steadying breath.

He’s smirking when he says, “Have a good day, Allie,” and heads for the coffee shop.

He’s so arrogant and she shouldn’t be into it.

“What’re you doing later?” she asks. He raises a brow like he’s entertaining offers, or something. “If you’re lucky, I’ll let you buy me dinner.”

Harry laughs. Allie smiles.

“And if I’m really lucky?”

She rolls her eyes, wiggles her fingers at him, and he says he’ll come by at 7:00.

… … …

“Hey, the husband thing…” He’s playing with a lock of her hair, and she’s on her stomach as he leans back against her pillows. “It really was just a line.”

They’d gone out to eat, which felt silly as soon as they sat down, because she realized she could’ve been just as happy with takeout and time alone with him. She likes talking to him. It’s so easy.

“You mean you don’t wanna settle down with me after like, two serious conversations and some fries? How dare.” Harry laughs, watching his hand. She thinks he’s just twirling her hair around his index finger over and over. She doesn’t mind. “It was a good line.”

“Apparently.”

“I bet you use it on all the girls.”

She can _tell_ by the glimmer in his eye that he’s about to say something absurd.

“Only the hottest ones.” She shoves at his hip as he laughs, then he reaches for her hand, brings it to his lips and kisses the tips of her fingers. She lets out a little chuckle. “What?”

“You’re...ridiculously good at this.” Okay, he could at least try not to look so smug about it. “It should be illegal to be this charming.”

“I thought you said I was a jerk.”

She shakes her head, turns over, holding the sheets to her chest, and leans against his shoulder. “I’m allowed to change my mind.” Harry pushes her hair aside, kisses right behind her ear. God. “What did you think of me? First impression.”

“Like, when you were moving in and you were wearing those overalls?” Okay, so, confirmation that he remembers that day as well as she does. “I wanted to sleep with you.”

“I’m serious,” she laughs. He shrugs like he doesn’t know what she wants him to say, because it’s the truth. She’s smiling at him, feeling probably more attractive than she’s ever felt. “Guess you got what you wanted.”

Harry gently tugs the sheet down, turns so he’s leaning overtop of her a little. “Guess I did.”

… … …

He knocks on her door with a pizza box in his hand, his other arm leaning against the frame up by his head. He’s still in his suit from work.

He looks so fucking good, and the way he smiles at her makes her want him quite badly. But then Helena’s on the sofa, craning her neck to see who it is, and Allie closes her eyes and lets out her breath, and Harry breezes past her into her apartment.

It’s been almost three weeks of them getting closer, sleeping together, talking. She hasn’t mentioned anything to Helena.

She doesn’t have to, apparently, because she can tell by the look on her friend’s face that Helena knows _exactly_ what’s going on here.

“I think she likes me,” he tells her the next day, a Saturday, when she walks down the hall in the morning, asks him if he wants to go for a walk with her, maybe grab some brunch.

He’s holding her hand, which isn’t a thing she thought he’d be into, but likes that he is.

“She doesn’t know you. She likes that I’m sleeping with someone.”

Harry lets out a laugh. Allie leans up and kisses his cheek.

(Helena totally likes him. She said he seems smart and nice and _really_ into Allie.)

When she tells him this, later, it’s because she doesn’t want him thinking she’s not at least a little serious. She’s very serious. She’s more serious than she’s been about someone in ages. She’s not going to tell him all _that_.

(She does. One night alone in his car. She really loves the way he sounds when he tells her it’s the same for him.)

… … …

By Thanksgiving, she knows exactly how good they are, but it feels different - in a very nice way - when there’s a holiday involved. Her parents are coming in for Thanksgiving at her aunt and uncle’s place this year. Harry’s met Sam and Grizz but no one else in her family, and she doesn’t need to worry about that now, either, because he’s going to visit his mom and sister. His mom’s doing advocacy work in DC, or something, and so he flies down for the weekend and sends Allie pictures of how stuffy the house is that his mom’s living in.

Allie misses knowing he’s right down the hall. Who’s she kidding? They spend almost every night together in one of their beds.

She tells her parents she’s seeing someone. They want to know all about him. They ask where he is. They think it’s nice he’s with his family. They like that he’s got a good job and makes her happy.

After the holiday, when she relays this all to him, he says he told his mom about her a few weeks ago. She’d apparently asked why Allie couldn’t join them. She wonders out loud if this is too fast, too serious. Harry looks at her like she’s crazy, and she thinks she’s scared him into thinking she wants to take it slower.

She doesn’t. “I like saying yes to things as long as they feel good,” she tells him.

He says something absolutely filthy that has her pressing him against the counter and tugging at his shirt and very much proving his point when he slips his fingers between her legs right there in his kitchen.

… … …

One of her patients overdoses on Vicodin and she gets the call in the middle of the night when Harry’s next to her. This has only happened once before, when someone she used to treat, back before she moved to Boston, was attacked and gave Allie’s name at the hospital.

She’s thankful they’re at her place. She reaches for some jeans and a sweater, and Harry’s watching, sleepily asking what she’s doing.

“I can’t tell you,” she says, because it’s true. “It’s a patient. I have to go. I’m so sorry.” She’s emotional and knows she has to get that under control before she gets to the hospital. Harry catches her hand before she can pull it away and leave.

“I’ll take you.”

She smiles a little, sadly. “I can’t,” she says. It’d probably be fine. It’s not like he’d figure anything out just by knowing what hospital her patient is at. But she wants to be overly cautious, and also, it’s 3:24am, and he can sleep and there’s no need to disrupt that more than she has. “It’s okay. There’s a spare key in the third drawer in the kitchen. Lock up?”

Harry nods, sits up and places his hand on the back of her neck, kisses her. “You’re all right?”

His thumb strokes her hairline. She nods.

Later, after an insane day, when she’s exhausted from her day and telling him about it, they’re on his couch. She’s leaning against him and the snow is falling outside, he says something about the key and she tells him to keep it.

… … …

Maybe it’s insane to bring her boyfriend of three months home for the holidays, but she asks him on a whim if he wants to, and he says yes, so she tells her parents he’ll be there and the only thing they ask is if he has winter tires for the drive.

Harry has two fancy vehicles, apparently. A Range Rover for the winter and the other fast one - the make of which she can’t honestly remember - for the summer. Her dad sounds impressed, or something, and Allie thinks that’s just so predictable.

He avoids the highway the whole drive there, because they both took an extra day off work so make the most of it, and they have the time. He pretends to be annoyed with her playing Christmas music, and buys her a hot apple cider at some roadside farm market in the middle of Massachusetts. She’s standing outside his truck with the cup between her hands - he’d gone back for the homemade fudge after initially saying he didn’t want any. Harry’s smiling, looking at her like she’s precious, or something. He’d offered to give her the keys to get inside and out of the cold, but she waved him off.

“You’re so fucking cute,” he tells her, pressing a kiss to her head over her knit hat.

“How’s the fudge?”

“I saved it so we can share.” Allie finds that the sweetest goddamned thing in the world, leans up to kiss him. Harry’s arms go around her, the box he’s carrying pressing into her back through her coat, and her arm around his neck. “The lady called you my wife.”

It’s this quiet little thing he says, like he isn’t sure how she’ll take it or if he should say anything at all.

“You should be so lucky,” she teases, but her heart is beating hard, too, and their relationship is way too young for this, and they’re too old to think anything different.

Harry kisses her again, and she can feel him smiling against her lips.

(She thinks he likes it, the way he’s sometimes reminded that the thing that sealed the deal was offering, in some ridiculous way, to be her husband. Again - insane to think it’s remotely close to happening or ever will. But Harry’s full of surprises, and one of them is that he’s secretly really, really into domesticity.)

He carries her bag into her parents’ house, and they fuss over him like he’s their long lost son. At one point he throws Allie a look as if to ask if this is as crazy as it feels, and she just presses her lips together to keep from laughing too hard. Her dad passes him a glass of water - Allie had gently told them that Harry doesn’t drink (and she knows why, but kept his privacy) - and her mom asks if he’s okay with roasted cod for dinner tonight.

Allie sits on the floor in front of him in the living room after dinner, when things have sort of calmed down. Harry’s foot brushes up against her hip. She likes that.

When they’re in bed and she can tell he’s wide awake, she turns and moves her hand over his stomach.

“They really like me,” he tells her, and Allie rolls her eyes even though he can’t see. “I really like them, too.”

“Good.” She yawns, and Harry’s hand moves up and down her side. It’s a thing he does that she isn’t even sure he’s conscious of. She loves that. “Planning on keeping you around a while.”

He chuckles. She lets her eyes slip closed. “How long’s a while?”

“Mm. At least as long as the sex is good.”

His body shakes a little as he laughs, and then he presses his lips to her forehead. He lingers there.

She thinks she loves him, and thinks he wants to say it, too.

Allie falls asleep in his arms, and wakes up alone in the morning. When she goes downstairs, he’s wearing a navy blue cashmere sweater and an apron, helping her mom make pies. He’s never made a pie before in his life.

He winks at her when sees her watching on from the bottom of the stairs. Her heart races.


End file.
